


Move Together

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, F/M, Mates, Reunion Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, and a smidge of angst, everything else is just in there for padding, it's sin, just all kinds of sex really, post acomaf, sin - Freeform, that is its purpose, that's the point of this - Freeform, they bang okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: Moriel AU in which they’re mates. Established relationship. Azriel has been away on a mission for a few weeks, missing him, unable to sleep alone, Mor goes for a late night shower to help her relax. Azriel returns and joins her. NSFW. 
'His lips nibble gently at her earlobe and he bites her making her cry out hoarsely again. His breath is hot and heavy in her ear as he leans in, voice low but still audible, even over the pounding water around them. “You were thinking of me?” he asks softly, one finger sliding slowly inside her as he speaks.'





	

Mor groans faintly as the gush of hot water floods her body from the ducts above. It’s late. The stars are high and bright over Velaris, and the moon hangs heavy in the velvety black sky. She should be asleep, she knows, wrapped up in blankets, swathed in dreams…but nightmares had plucked her from them and cast her out into the cold hours ago.

Unwilling to remain in an empty bed that was designed to accommodate Illyrian wings and felt far too large without them, she had come here instead. The underground bath house is empty at this time and it’s one of her favourite places to relax and find her bearings when she can’t be in her mate’s comforting embrace.  Hot springs were discovered beneath Velaris centuries ago and were quickly converted to form baths and showers. Tucked away in an alcove Morrigan is quite alone, surrounded by rough, hard black stone, nestled away from prying eyes.

Her shower room at home had felt too small, the identical tiled walls pressing in around her until it felt more cage than room. Panting, more covered in sweat than she had been when she had entered it, she had dragged her hands through her damp hair and fled her house, seeking refuge elsewhere. It was too big when it was empty, too quiet, too echoing, haunted as her dreams. It had not felt that way when she had lived there alone but it’s been several decades since she’s been alone.

Azriel has been gone for over three weeks now and she misses him more keenly today than she has at any time since. His absences are to be expected, she knows his role within this court, the part he plays in keeping them safe, the things that Rhys must ask him to do. But that doesn’t mean that she enjoys them.

Tonight especially she finds that her missing has turned to a deep longing. It’s more than missing, more than wanting, more even than needing. It’s feeling not unsettled, feeling like half of a whole, feeling not right in her own skin. She wants nothing more than to claw free of it and find him, hold him. She knows that he isn’t dead, knows that he’s still alive, the bond tells her that much, but he keeps it quiet when he’s away on missions. He lets only enough through, limiting to a spindle-thread, barely enough to let her know he’s still on the other end but not enough to know where he is or what he might be doing.

She plucks at the bond now, like a harp left idly in the corner of a dusty room, its worn strings begging for a touch, for their music to be heard once more. It shivers faintly and she shifts restlessly in place. Distracting him won’t do either of them any good and it won’t ease the frustration that’s building up inside her. _He’s fine_ , she chides herself irritably, reminding herself that he’ll return when he’s finished, that he’ll come back to her as soon as he can, that he hates this as much as she does but…

Growling into the candlelit darkness the lets out a long, irritable breath through her knows. The next time she sees Rhys she’s going to shove him off the nearest available balcony. It’s been years since they’ve been parted this way.

After gently wakening that bond between them and taking the second chance it offered them to accept it this time they’ve rarely been parted. The first time he was away from her, only a few weeks after they had accepted and sealed that bond, she had gone out of her mind and had been one step away from climbing the walls in her anxiety.

She knew that his missions were dangerous, knew that he courted death with each one, knew that he was sent to places no-one else dared to tread but…But knowing that and _feeling_ it were two different things. At that time the bond between them had been too new, too raw, for him to have learned the level of control over it he has now. She had felt everything, had been unable to sleep for days and had been terrified she was going to lose her mate mere weeks after they had bonded.

When he had returned she had thrown herself into his arms and refused to let anyone near him for days. When at last they had emerged she had flatly told Rhys that he could send them together on missions from now on or not at all. Rhys had reluctantly agreed and the two of them had quickly become a lethal hit team all of their own. Six hundred years experience of living and working and fighting together plus the mating bond that burned between them made them near invincible.

This time however, Mor had been forced to remain behind to tend to the Court of Nightmares and Azriel had left weeks ago, muting the bond between them so as not to terrify her as before. Now however she thinks she might somehow prefer that agony, that fear, to this emptiness.

There’s a hole in the fabric of her world, a tear right down the middle of her soul, a hollow, echoing silence in her heart. The emptiness stalks her everywhere, her empty bed, her empty arms, her empty chest, the near silent bond, it’s driving her insane. She wants to hold him, she wants him to hold her, she wants him here, she just wants him…

Snarling as her frustration peaks she closes her eyes and tries to focus her memories on him as the hot water trickles down over her skin, pooling at her feet. She remembers their last night together with near painful clarity. He had left at dawn, and she should have let him sleep, should have let him get some rest but…

He had insisted on saying a proper goodbye to her before they were parted. He had kissed her lips and then her jaw, her neck, her chest, her stomach, and had kept on kissing until sweat coated her skin and she was drowning in the scent of him. She had begged for him to be inside her and he had obliged her. When they had joined she had wrapped her arms around his chest, dug her nails into his back and urged him deeper, never wanting him to leave, never wanting that moment to end.  

With a faint whimper, Mor slides her fingers between her legs, desperate to relieve some of the pressure that’s built up there. She finds herself soaking wet from the memory and she wishes it was Azriel’s hands pleasuring her but- A faint cry breaks from her lips and she braces herself against the rough cold wall, fingers biting into the tiny gaps between the uneven stones, anchoring herself. Her eyes clamp shut tightly and she bites out his name as she works herself.  

She’s so focused on her pleasure that she doesn’t realise she’s been joined until his scent envelopes her. Her gasps bursts from her lips a moment before his solid, warm body wraps around hers. Her hand slips from the wall, the rough rock grazing her palm, but she barely notices. She’s too consumed with the feeling of her mate moulding himself around her, the bond humming at his presence.

He’s completely naked behind her, his skin wet and hot against hers and she doesn’t make any effort to contain the sounds that escape her. Relief courses through her even as her heart pounds and her stomach clenches. She’s too happy, too busy trying to contain the broad, stupid smile spreading across her face, to chide him for keeping the bond muted so he could make his entrance.

Nuzzling gently at her earlobe, cradling her against him, one of Azriel’s scarred hands gently nudges hers out of the way and replaces it with his own. His deft fingers slide easily between her folds and she gasps at the same time he growls in approval at her wetness. The sound rumbles through her as his chest vibrates and that makes her shiver as well.

Her body becomes liquid as she melts for him, limp and boneless, she relies entirely on him to keep her on her feet as her legs begin to tremble. Sensing this, Azriel wraps one hand across her stomach, pulling her against him as her whole body begins to tremble, like that plucked harp string, shuddering in response to him as its music pours from her throat.

His lips nibble gently at her earlobe and he bites her making her cry out hoarsely again. His breath is hot and heavy in her ear as he leans in, voice low but still audible, even over the pounding water around them. “You were thinking of me?” he asks softly, one finger sliding slowly inside her as he speaks. The moan that bursts from her cuts off her answer so he growls and pulls her closer before he asks her again, more insistently this time, “You were thinking of me, Morrigan, while you touched yourself?”

His fingers pause to let her answer and she closes her eyes, frustration peaking. “Yes,” she rasps, nodding her head urgently, covering his hand with her own and trying to make him move again. “Yes, I was thinking of you, only you. Az, please-“ but he withdraws his hand from her and she whimpers, trying to turn in his arms, wanting to look at him, to grab him and pull him against her.

But his hands slide to her hips, gently lifting them as he moves in closer still, their bodies pressed flush together and she cuts off her snarling protests with a choked whimper as she realises what he’s doing. “I was thinking of you too,” he confesses, bending low over her, his words pressed roughly into her damp hair. “Thinking of this moment, of what this would feel like, of what _you_ would feel like, Morrigan.”

Her hand reaches out blindly, seeking for the wall, finding it, scrabbling desperately against it for purchase, needing to anchor herself to _something_. A moment later he’s sliding himself inside her, slow and controlled she feels every inch of him as he moves in deeper and deeper, filling her. Her fingers clench against the rough wall, the sharp feeling that bursts in her nerves the only thing that keeps her tethered to the world as the heady pleasure of having Azriel inside her again at last blazes through her.  

Once he’s fully sheathed within her, Az pauses, nuzzling gently at her neck as he rolls his hips against her, allowing her to adjust to his size. Parting her lips she lets herself pant, pitching forwards slightly, trying to regain a little of her control. Azriel’s hand rises from where it still gripped her stomach and slowly moves up her body. It skims over the smooth planes of her stomach, follows the curve of her ribs, rises to cradle her breast, briefly teasing, before he continues, mapping the bumps of her collarbone, then it slides around her neck.

He cradles her throat, his fingers an intimate necklace made of trust and scarred skin, nudging her jaw up, tilting her head back until it rests against his shoulder. Az growls softly in pleasure as she allows him to mould her body however he sees fit. She would never allow any other partner to have this command over her, even this small gesture. She would never have submitted with wordless compliance to any other lover, only for him, only for her mate.

Leaning in he lets his lips skim gently over her skin, pressing kisses down the strong, exposed column of her neck, biting gently here and there just to hear her gasp for him. Mor reaches back and digs her fingers messily into his hair, tugging gently, urging him to give her more, to move, to let her feel him.

With a soft snarl he does as he’s bid. Slowly, he pulls out of her and then thrusts back in, deep and hard and she bites her lip hard, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing her lose her mind for him just yet. Azriel senses her holding back and repeats the motion, faster this time and her eyes flutter closed again. His hand remains at her throat, his lips still kissing and sucking at every spot he knows she loves as he moves within her.

His pace increases slowly, gradually, a crescendo of motions that never becomes desperate or uncontrolled. There’s an urgency to his movements but he maintains his steady rhythm. Always there’s a hint of gentleness in him, even when he takes her like this. In this position all she can do is take what he gives her, all she can do is _feel_ the things that he does. She can’t give back the way she loves to, can’t tease him and match her body’s movements to his. All she can do is surrender herself, her body, her pleasure, to him.

She has no qualms about doing that, not with him. She knows that he will never push her too far, will never cross any of the boundaries most don’t even know exist. There is always a line, always a point that he holds himself behind, a barrier she’s never been able to break down or drag him across. Even when they’ve been separated for weeks, hungering for one another, longing for this moment, this joining, this feeling, he holds himself back for her. Her comfort, her pleasure, are always his focus above all else.

That knowledge releases the moan that had been building up inside her chest. She hears Azriel’s responding low growl and feels the bond thrum and pulse between them, like a heartbeat pounding in time with theirs. It hammers in time with every beat, every thrust, every breathless second until she closes her eyes and leans back against Azriel’s body and lets the rhythm of it sweep her up and bear her away.

Her body writhes against his, naturally falling into sync with him. There’s always been such an ease between them. In dance or in battle or in bed her body knows what to do, falls into a flow with him, inexorable as a river’s current, rushing and bending and moving seamlessly with him.

Anyone watching them together might have thought they were one.

One flesh cleaved apart but still linked, still bound together so closely that they don’t need words or gestures or even thoughts to help them move. Instinct drives every action, every spin, every parry, every thrust- the answer given before the question is ever fully asked. One heart that clenches and releases with perfect time, never breaking its rhythm, never halting, never faltering, never knowing it belongs to two separate bodies. One soul that sings now as they allow it to fuse as it was made to, that bond burning bright the bridge between them, the only thing that marks the divide, a glowing, line along which they must be ripped to reclaim their selves and identities.

“I missed you,” Azriel rasps against her skin, his lips slack and parted to make way for his short, panting gasps of breath as he moves within her. She whimpers, nodding her head in agreement, pulling hard on the bond to communicate her own feelings to him. His hand tilts her head back a little further, exposing more of her neck and giving him better access as he bends to kiss her once more.

“I _missed_ you,” he repeats as though she had not understood the depth of his longing for her. He increases his pace again as he speaks, his hips snapping harder against her and she moans, body trembling and going limp once more for him.

“I thought of you,” he continues, settling into this new rhythm, “I thought of you every single day. I only wanted to be with you again, wanted to hear your voice, wanted to kiss you, wanted to hold you, wanted to be inside you.” That last desire he seems to scrape from the bottom of his starved, primal self, the part that presses into her now and fucks her until she whimpers, until she closes her eyes and finds stars wheeling on the other side of her lids.

He drags her hair over her shoulder with a hand, winding it through his fingers and pulling gently, adding a new tension to her body as he draws it back, spine arching like a bow for him. “I wanted to hear you moan for me, Morrigan,” he growls in her ear. She obliges him as his thrusts strike her deeper, one hand sliding between her thighs to coax her closer to her climax for him.  

“Azriel!” she cries, her voice echoing out of their small, candlelit archive, swallowed by the hungry darkness beyond.

“Good,” he purrs to her, his voice dropping to a low, rich thrum in her ear. His nose runs gently up and down her neck as her entire body shudders. Her legs slip out from under her and she’s no longer supporting any of her own weight, relying on him completely to keep her up and pressed against him. “Morrigan,” he groans faintly as he feels her starting to seize up around him.

Pleasure pounds through her like the heart that flings itself against the cage of her ribs. It’s as though it wants to break free, to get to him, lamenting the layers of skin and muscle and bone between them, keeping it from him. She quivers as she feels her climax building in her, beginning to crest as he continues to move within her, his fingers drawing swift, sure circles over her centre to pull her closer.

His head falls forwards hopelessly onto her shoulder and he absently bites at her skin, a gentle nip that nevertheless has her gasping. “I wanted,” he pants, gritting his teeth as he fights to maintain his pace and rhythm for her. His voice lowers to a velvet smooth snarl that slides down her spine the way her favourite whisky slides down her throat, raw and burning, setting fire to the core of her when it hits. “I wanted to make you scream my name as you came for me.”

She shatters for him then, her climax blazing through her body like an avalanche tumbling down a mountainside, dragging her down with it. As she does she gasps out his name with the last whisper of air left in her lungs, gifting it to the waiting heavens above them, allowing it to be enveloped by his darkness.

Azriel doesn’t slow his pace as the aftershocks of her climax pulse through her. He pulls her harder and closer to him as he continues to move, his breathing heavy and ragged in her ear and she knows that he’s getting close himself. Reaching back she winds her fingers through his dark hair, tugging gently and making him hiss faintly.

Shifting her position slightly on the wet rocks she arches on her toes, bracing herself against the wall. This allows him to press even more deeply into her and he gasps out her name, his hands trembling as he anchors them on her hips, holding her steady as he moves within her.

Mor blindly drags the hand that was in his hair and moves it to his wings, scratching the thin membrane gently with her nails. He lets out a snarl at that and moves a hand between her thighs, coaxing the sensitive bundle of nerves there in answer. The cry splinters from her before she can control herself as pleasure begins to build in her core again. She had been so focused on his pleasure, on giving him the release she can feel burning through the bond she hadn’t realised how close he’s pushing her to a second climax.

“Azriel,” she whimpers faintly, fingers pausing their soft movement on his wings as she fights to compose herself, breath coming in taut pants as pleasure swells again. The effect he has on her is impossible, no other partner has ever had such command over her body. A single kiss and she’s ready for him, a gentle touch has her arching into him begging for more, a murmur in her ear and her body becomes limp and liquid in his arms. And having him _inside her_ … The intimacy of it, the breathtaking intensity is something she never thought to find with any, and knows she could never feel with another.

“Morrigan,” Azriel murmurs, his lips grazing my neck, his breath a hot brand against it. “Please,” he whispers roughly to her. His wings slowly stretch and spread, brushing her fingertips as they flare behind her. “ _Please,_ ” he repeats, teeth scraping her skin as he kisses her.

The shiver that runs through her every time he invites her to touch his wings flares through her spine like a shooting star. That he could not only crave that from her but that he would open his wings for her and _ask_ her for it, that he trusts her so much always makes her heart sing for him. The bond hums hot and frantic between them as she softly, lovingly, strokes his wings again at his command.

A whimper chokes off into a gasp as she touches him the way she knows he loves. Azriel increases his pace, his rhythm becoming more ragged and uncontrolled as he nears his peak but she relishes it. Feeling him lose control for her, allowing her that vulnerability, that connection, always sends thrills of warm pleasure burning through her core. He’s so rigidly composed, so strictly controlled that having him lose even a shred of that, seeing even a flicker behind that cold mask always consumes her.

“ _Morrigan_ ,” he rasps in her ear, lips pressing close, hands tugging her against him. The word blends into a cry torn from two throats at once as their climax hits them at the same time. He fills her, groaning and burying his head against her shoulder, and she knows that this is what home feels like. This warmth, this safety, this feeling of rightness, of being whole when he’s within her, this is how it’s supposed to be.

The moment he withdraws from her she turns to face him then throws herself into his arms. His hands immediately settle on her, one sliding under her, holding her up, one sliding into her thick golden hair. She kisses him deeply, her eyes closed, her arms draped loosely around his neck. Gently breaking the kiss she buries her face in the crook of his neck. Pulling his scent deeply into her lungs she holds it there, wanting nothing more than to drown on him.

She missed him, by the Mother, she missed him.

Her fingers lightly stroke through his hair as she settles against him, wanting to remain this way, cradled in his arms, until their eternities claim them. “I love you,” she whispers to him, sudden emotion clogging her throat as she nestles in closer to him, “I love you, Azriel, I love you so much.”

Az presses a soft, lingering kiss to the side of her head and strokes a scarred hand through her hair, drawing it gently back from her face. “I love you too, Morrigan,” he purrs quietly and she smiles against his skin, resting her head against his shoulder.

After a long moment he gently and carefully sets her down on the floor. “I interrupted your shower,” he murmurs with a soft smile, tucking her hair affectionately behind her ears, “Let me help you finish.”

A broad smirk tugs across her lips at that, “I thought you already had,” she purrs, nuzzling in against the crook of his neck once more.

Another smile blooms on his face and she can’t help herself from standing on her toes to kiss him again. A grin tugs at her own lips and she presses it against his mouth, unable to help herself, giddy with the pleasure of having him back with her. That flushed lightness dies on her face and in her chest as she draws back and takes him in properly for the first time since his return.

There’s a new mark upon his chest, a new wound, soon to be a new scar. Her hand reaches out, trembling at the sight of her mate’s hurt, and traces the ragged edges with her fingertips. Azriel hisses faintly at the touch but he doesn’t pull away from her, doesn’t move as she drags her gaze from the injury to meet his eyes.

Her palm flattens against his chest, feeling his heat, the reassuring thud of his heart beneath his bones and the swell of the mating bond as he broadens it, radiating reassurance. Mor turns away with a snarl of disgust, shutting out the bond from her end, unable to bear the sudden sense of calm that feels so wrong when set against her tight lungs and racing heart. Azriel stumbles slightly behind her, as though slammed into a solid steel wall and she chokes on her pent up breath, forcing down a sob.

The bond is still unfamiliar, even after all these years. Sometimes it still feels new, still, at times, seems like an unwelcome intruder on the well known comfort of their relationship. At times like this she finds it difficult to bear, difficult to contend with two sets of raging emotions, one not her own. Her hands clench into fists at her sides as she tries to control herself. He’s here. He came home to her. She’s drenched in his scent again. _Safe, safe, safe, safe, safe_. Her mate is fine she snaps at herself but…But she’s still shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly behind her and she feels him reach out to her but stop just before he makes contact.

The hesitancy and the concern blended with a near painful concentration drags a choked sob from her and she whirls back to face him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding him close. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” she mumbles thickly into his skin, nuzzling in against him. Why couldn’t she just have kept herself under better control? Then this wouldn’t be happening, he wouldn’t be upset.  

Drawing slowly away she tries to compose herself, cursing the sudden surge of emotions. So raw, after so long without him, so long on her own, the bond cut back to a faint whisper between them. Now it’s bellowing at her, forcing her to catalogue every bruise, every cut on her mate’s body, everything that she missed while they were separated. It’s like an avalanche, unstoppable and overwhelming.

Her eyes drift inexorably back down to that new ragged bit of torn skin. “I’m fine,” Azriel murmurs softly to her. His hand gently cups her jaw between his thumb and forefinger then tilts her head up, having her look into his rich hazel eyes instead of at his battered body. There’s a warmth and a light in them that wasn’t there before the second war, before their mating. She thanks the Cauldron every day for it, for the soft flush of happiness it inspires in her every time she sees it but…

“What happened?” she demands, her voice hoarse and brittle, refusing to be soothed so easily. Azriel could have been close enough to death on this trip to see the white’s of her eyes then return and unflinchingly inform her that he was fine.

“Mor-“ he begins, a slight edge to his voice.

“ _What happened?_ ” she repeats, the strain causing her voice to crack in spite of her best efforts at keeping herself under control.

“A stray arrow caught me as I was leaving,” he murmurs patiently. His hands reach out and softly pull her against him, as though unable to bear the distance between them while she’s this upset.

“Poison?”  she whispers quietly, her hands balling themselves up into fists, braced against his chest, even as she pillows her head against his shoulder, eyes closed, trying to control her trembling before he notices.

His scarred hands move on her, one slides into her hair and strokes, the other settles flat against her back and starts to rub in broad circles, soothing her. It’s what he does when she’s upset, what he’s always done when she’s upset, for centuries before they ever mated. Somehow, it begins calming her, speaking to some deep instinct within her that recognises this touch and the safety it carries within it.

“It was clean,” he murmurs evenly, fingers trailing soothingly through her still wet hair. Leaning down he presses a long, slow kiss to the crown of her head.  

His hand reaches up and cups her cheek in it. His thumb reaches up and swipes away her tear, moving a moment before it falls and catching it almost as soon as it trickles free. Tentatively, he opens the bond a little wider and lets soft, reassurance lap quietly against her soul, gentling its splintered, jagged edges. She nestles her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes and letting him hold her.

Breathing deeply, inhaling that scent, their scent, deep into her lungs and letting it soothe her like pipe smoke she nods, biting her lip to stem the flow of jerky, worried questions. She lets herself relax in his arms, lets her body melt and mould itself to hers until it’s difficult to tell where they separate. The tension whispers out of Azriel in response and she feels guilty for having inspired it in him in the first place. The last thing he needed upon just returning from a mission was her upsetting him like that.

Looking up into his eyes she searches them and finds darkness stirring in their depths. The things he did on this mission were not kind things. His body may have escaped unharmed but his soul has not gone unscathed. Standing on her toes she presses a tender kiss to his lips, letting it linger a little longer than necessary. Later. She’ll talk to him later, he’s not ready now, she knows. She doesn’t need the bond to tell her that.

Azriel’s hands are still gently rubbing at her back, evidently still able to feel the unease that locks up some of her muscles and makes her press in close to him. Reaching out behind her he takes one of her bottles of soap from the small, indented ledge and makes to pour some out onto his hand. Cat quick, Mor’s hand snaps out and closes around his wrist, stopping him.

“No,” she says, shaking her head and startling him as he peers down at her in evident confusion. “No,” she says again, more gently this time. She eases the bottle from his loose fingers and reaches up, standing on her toes and tugging him down gently to let her press a soft kiss to his brow, “Let me take care of you this time,” she breathes into his hair, “Please.”

He would never deny her anything she asked for with that ‘please’ on the end. Though she can see the obvious uncertainty in his eyes he slowly nods his head in wordless permission. A shaky smile spreads across her lips and she squeezes the soap out over his body, laughing throatily when he rustles his wings and shifts irritably, protesting the sudden cold sensation.

“Baby,” she chides, feeling her chest expand with the humour that comes so naturally to her, the laughter that jumps easily to lips that were made for it. Despite all the horrors her eyes have witnessed and the screams that have been torn from her mouth, somehow she still finds it easier to laugh than anything else.

He only huffs then flares his wings a little more wildly in indignation as she dumps another lot of the freezing soap onto his skin, chuckling at his reaction. He scowls at her but she just laughs again and kisses it from his lips.

Azriel stands with her and allows her hands to softly work the soap into his skin, massaging his tense, knotted muscles and coaxing him to relax for her. By the time she moves on to his hair his body is near liquid, his eyes heavy lidded and half-closed and she smiles faintly, glad that he can still find some pleasure and calm in these quiet moments with her.

When she’s done, Mor lets the soaps drop from her fingers as she moves to stand in front of him again, kissing his neck, his jaw, his lips. Azriel hums contentedly as she presses her forehead gently against his. Her arms drape around his neck while his slide loosely around her hips, enjoying another soft, peaceful moment of each other’s company simply because they can.

“I missed you,” she murmurs softly, her lips mouthing against his with every word.

He captures them in his before he answers, voice gentle and smooth, “I missed you too, Mor.”

Tugging a towel from the nearby rack he gently wraps them both in it and dries her off, occasionally allowing his hands to wander and tickle her just to make her squeal and wriggle against him, unable to go anywhere because of the towel looped around her, pinning her against him.

Once they’re suitably dry, Mor nudges the towel from his hands, wraps her arms around him and winnows them into the bedroom of their townhouse. Azriel’s eyes find hers by the faint glow of the starlight that filters in through the open window and he cradles her face in his hand again, stroking her cheek softly with his thumb.

“I love you,” he rumbles quietly before leaning down to kiss her deeply.

The bond purrs, low and content, in approval and she lets herself drown in it, in his kiss, in _him_. Reluctantly breaking the kiss off she opens her eyes and looks up at him. Threading her fingers through his hair she stands on her toes to reach his mouth, “I love you too,” she whispers against his lips, feeling the shudder of pleasure that skitters through the bond from him hearing her say that.

Even now, now that they’ve mated, now that bond burns between them, there’s still a thrill of disbelief that shoots through him at hearing her say that she loves him. That makes her kiss him even more fiercely. She doesn’t let go as he slides his arms beneath her, scoops her up gently and carries her towards the bed.

He lays her down then climbs in after her. They don’t bother with clothes, only slipping beneath the thin sheet and then nestling down together. They press their bodies together, nothing but skin separating their souls, and hold each other as the sun begins to rise over the lip of the horizon, bathing the world in a soft golden glow.

_Home_ the bond whispers to her, a gentle song that begins to sound like a lullaby as her head suddenly becomes heavy with exhaustion. _Home_ , her mate is home. Burrowing in against him, breathing in his scent, Mor finds that she’s able, at last, to slip into a sleep. Now she is safe from the nightmares that have torn her from dreams too long. Safe within the confines of her mate’s loving, tender embrace. Safe. _Home._

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As ever, feedback is greatly appreciated and will likely fuel more fic if you have a moment to spare.


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